


Monsters and Men

by tesha198



Series: Dragon [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, Dragon Hunters, Dragons, M/M, Trip - Freeform, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Tattoos and Teeth.</p>
<p>After receiving a call from an unknown man, Stiles sets off to take revenge on Keres before he dies. Derek goes with him, determined to save his life before it's too late. Together they discover the full extent of the Hunters' power and get caught up in a war they never wanted to fight. Throw in a dark secret about the leader of the Hunters, Stiles' bloodlust, a rebellion, and sex, and Stiles and Derek are in way over their heads. Can they save Stiles' life before it's too late? Or will Stiles be wiped out alongside the Dragons he's been trying to protect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bumpy Ride

The plane was somewhat unsettling – relatively small and bumpy and vibrating harshly every so often with turbulence. Derek did his best to mask his discomfort, his white knuckles the only indication he was uncomfortable.

There were two other passengers aboard, a man and a woman, seated away from them and each other. No one interacted or acknowledged one another, everyone clearly preferring to keep their distance and maintain their anonymity. Still, Derek couldn’t help but wonder what had brought the few other passengers aboard an unregulated flight out of the country. Ignorance was bliss he supposed.

He glanced at Stiles, his mate’s face relaxed and uncaring despite the constant bouts of turbulence. Honestly, Derek didn’t know whether to find that reassuring or concerning.

As though reading his mind, Stiles turned away from the small window to eye Derek with arched brows.

“We should be there soon.” Derek offered, unsure what else to say. He didn’t know for sure they were close, but they’d been flying for hours so he hoped they were.

Stiles nodded with a small smile, an expression more to placate Derek’s concerns than anything else. Derek knew Stiles wasn’t happy, no matter how much he postured. He’d only just lost his father and every expression still held that undeniable sorrow that came with loss. he didn’t talk much anymore either and Derek couldn’t help but wonder if Stiles would ever get that energetic spark back.

“You should sleep.” Derek pressed on, taking Stiles’ silence as permission to keep talking.

“I’m fine.” Stiles shook his head, his face flashing with a flicker of fear before his expression returned to indifference.

Derek sighed but didn’t press, moving on to other issues more pertinent than sleep.

“We need to check your vitals when we land.” Derek insisted firmly. “Deaton says the altitude could negatively affect your deterioration.”

Before Derek could continue Stiles’ lips were pressed to his and his wolf was clawing inside him to deepen their connection. Their kiss lasted a few moments before Derek broke away, exhaling deeply to steady the animalistic need rising within him.

It had only been a day or so since they’d left Beacon Hills but Stiles had already kissed Derek more times than he could count. Every time Derek tried to bring up Stiles’ health or sleep or survival, Stiles would kiss him and the conversation would end. It wasn’t that Derek didn’t recognize what Stiles was doing, but it was hard to argue with the possessive wolf inside him when Stiles was practically begging to be touched.

The plane hit another bout of turbulence and jerked harshly, jostling them both in their seats and making Derek’s knuckles white with stress.

“We’ll be there soon.” Stiles nodded reassuringly, interlocking their fingers on the arm of the seat with an almost amused smile that vanished just as quickly as it had surfaced.

“Thanks.” Derek sighed, whether for his words or his rare genuine smile he wasn’t entirely sure. He simply held Stiles’ hand in silent affection as he waited for the plane’s descent.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott stood on the porch of the Hale house, staring out at the preserve with distant eyes. It still felt odd to be there without Derek or Stiles – as though something vital were missing.

Derek had left the house in his care when they’d departed, telling him to take care of it. It had all felt so final. Now there were dragons and wolves lounging inside and out and Scott still didn’t feel like he was living up to his commitment. He was only a beta. How was he supposed to lead an entire pack?

 

* * *

 

 

The plane’s descent was even jerkier than its flight if that were possible. Honestly for most of it Derek feared the plane was going to split apart and leave them to free-fall to the ground below.

By the time they were safely on the ground Derek had actually left substantial claw indents in the arm of his seat. Stiles’ expression hadn’t changed.

There was no captain’s announcement or stewardess to tell them when they had landed. The door to the plane simply opened and everyone had hesitantly clamored out after a few moments of uncertainty.

Derek and Stiles were the last to disembark, taking extra care to carry the chest with the dragon eggs off the plane. Stiles took one side and Derek the other, despite Derek trying to insist he carry the entire thing alone. Stiles was nothing if not stubborn.

There was no one to greet them on the tarmac and no sign telling them where to go. They simply started walking, not wanting to waste time unnecessarily looking for help.

Derek was actually surprised with how helpful Stiles was with navigation. They didn’t have to stop to ask directions once. Stiles’ understanding of Polish was far more in depth than Derek had anticipated and even his speech was fairly advanced. He read signs and maps with no difficultly and even managed to exchange a short conversation with a cab driver that picked them up. By the time they reached their hotel Derek had a newfound appreciation of Stiles’ Polish roots.

“You never told me you could read and speak Polish.” Derek eyed Stiles, impressed, once they were safely inside their hotel room.

“My mother taught me.” Stiles shrugged in response, carefully opening the lid of the chest to examine the eggs within.

Derek frowned, recognizing a land mine when he saw one. Talking about Stiles’ parents definitely wasn’t a good idea – at least not yet.

“Has Lydia sent the GPS coordinates?” Stiles asked, closing the chest and locking eyes with Derek intently.

“Not yet.” Derek frowned, checking Stiles’ phone for the hundredth time since landing in Poland.

Stiles had insisted Derek be the one to carry his phone, not wanting to see his father’s caller ID if the man from the funeral called back.

“Good.” Stiles returned, earning an arched brow from Derek. “Gives us time to look for my family.”

 

* * *

 

 

Whatever family Stiles had in Poland, they were impossible to find. They’d spent two days without rest searching for any and all signs of Stiles’ relatives. They’d tried public records, libraries, census reports, cemetery records; they’d even used the hotel’s Wi-Fi to try and research his family tree. Nothing.

Stiles was even more withdrawn than he had been before and Derek was beyond concerned for his wellbeing. They’d spent a large chunk of time hunting down people and places from Stiles’ mother’s stories but no one had ever heard of Claudia or anyone else from the Stilinski line.

Derek knew Stiles was frustrated and upset, even with him trying to keep a cool mask in the face of it all. He just couldn’t accept that his mother had lied to him and with every dead end Derek could see a little bit of Stiles’ optimism chip away.

By the time Lydia called with the GPS coordinates Stiles was barely speaking – too consumed with futile research to idly chat. Frankly, they were both relieved when they finally had an excuse to leave Poland behind. Stiles couldn’t take unraveling any more of his parents’ lies, and Derek couldn’t take watching those lies eat away at him.

They left without knowing for sure, but Derek was all but certain Stiles had never really had relatives in Poland.


	2. Turn Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon and don't forget to comment!

Derek sat at the bar, a thin glossy mahogany top behind which several bottles of alcohol sat on shelves and shook slightly in time with the clack of the train. It was early morning and none of the other passengers had ventured into the train’s bar car in search of a drink, leaving Derek to drink alone.

He flagged the bartender and the man poured him another shot with a mildly judgmental glance. Derek ignored him. He couldn’t get drunk regardless of how many shots he consumed but the simple act of drinking worked to calm his frustration.

Stiles was back in the overnight car Derek had purchased. Money came in handy when they wanted privacy and given their situation, they needed as much as he could afford.

The GPS coordinates Lydia had sent them were in Greece. The map they’d consulted showed nothing in the area of the coordinates but green space, but Derek seriously doubted that was actually the case.

The train ride was much more comfortable than the plane although far longer of a trip, most of which had been taken in silence. Stiles was still spending most of his time in uncharacteristic silence which alone was driving Derek insane. He could tell Stiles was calculating something behind his constant flat expression, something he adamantly refused to share. Even more frustrating, however, were the expert distractions Stiles had begun using in order to keep Derek from monitoring his health. Since boarding the train they’d already had sex twice and kissed more than Derek could count. Normally he would be ecstatic by their intimacy if not for the fact it was a clear ploy to keep Derek from helping him.

He took another shot and glanced at the clock hanging overhead behind the bar. They would be arriving within half an hour assuming no delays. He set the shot glass down on the bar, ignoring the slightly stunned look from the bartended as he stood without wavering. He needed to get back to Stiles before they arrived. The last thing he needed was his mate disappearing in a foreign country to carry out his vendetta alone.

Their car was the last on the train, only a few behind the bar car, and it took only a matter of minutes for him to make it back. Stiles was sitting at the very back of the car, gazing distractedly out the bank of windows there.

Derek closed the door behind him when he entered, never looking away from Stiles as he approached. As he got closer Stiles turned to lock eyes with him but remained silent. Derek took a seat beside him and they spent a few minutes sitting in tense silence before Stiles dropped his gaze from Derek to frown at the police badge he’d been turning over in his hand. His father’s badge.

“Why would they lie?” Stiles muttered.

For a minute Derek wasn’t sure whether or not to answer, but when Stiles rose his gaze to lock questioning eyes with him Derek decided it was safe.

“I’m sure they had a good reason.” Derek offered reassuringly.

Stiles sighed, tracing his thumb over the face of his father’s badge before pocketing it with a nod.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” Stiles admitted meekly. “Everything I thought I knew was a lie.”

“You’re Stiles.” Derek responded firmly with a small smile. “You’re sarcastic and witty and more than a little pain in my ass.”

“I think it’s _my_ ass that should be in pain.” Stiles retorted with a suggestive smirk.

Derek couldn’t help but smirk. It was the first smarmy response he’d gotten from Stiles since his father had died and it was comforting to see that old defiant spark in his eyes.

“My point is,” Derek pressed on with an amused shake of his head. “Whether or not you’re from Poland means nothing. You’re still the same Stiles that drives me crazy and that I’m in love with.”

Stiles’ brows shot up in surprise and Derek fell quiet, realizing the magnitude of what he’d just said. Before either had a chance to say anything, however, the train began to slow and the car grew dim as they entered the tunnel of the station. Derek watched as Stiles’ attention returned to the window to see where they were. The tunnel whirred by outside the train and Stiles practically leapt from his seat to lean as close to the window as possible. Derek followed his gaze, noticing the image graffitied on the tunnel wall for only an instant before it was gone out of sight. The image was identical to the tattoo over Stiles’ heart – a small circle within which two dragons were intertwined with their noses touching a small circle between them.

Stiles’ gaze remained fixed on the tunnel walls long after the graffiti had disappeared, a look of rapt confusion permanent on his face.

The train came to a complete stop and Derek ushered Stiles to his feet, both carrying the chest of eggs off the train as they had with the plane.

 

* * *

 

 

Greece was busy, the streets bustling with clueless tourists who Derek was all too irritated to find would simply stop in the middle of the street to take a picture with no mind for the traffic jams they caused. It took far too long to make it to their hotel and even longer to convince Stiles to leave the eggs in the hotel room. He’d finally conceded when Derek had suggested Kohl stay behind to guard them. Derek only hoped the _Do Not Enter_ sign on their door would stop the cleaning staff from finding the impossible beast in their room.

Other than the infuriating amount of foot traffic, the city seemed relatively normal. Many of the buildings looked the same and, as far as they could tell, there were no overt signs of hunters among the citizens. In fact, other than an amazing lunch, nothing overly exciting had happened since they’d begun exploring the city.

Stiles walked beside him, licking an ice cream cone Derek had bought him in an attempt to bring back Stiles’ usual lighthearted smile. It hadn’t worked.

All of a sudden Stiles stumbled forward, making Derek instinctively catch him before he could fall flat onto the sidewalk. The ice cream, however, wasn’t as lucky.

“Damn it!” Stiles griped, glaring at the splattered scoop of ice cream on the pavement.

“You alright?” Derek asked, straightening Stiles back up to stand normally.

“I’m fine. Someone just bumped into me.” Stiles huffed, turning to face the culprit.

The culprit, evidently, was a tiny old woman who was staring at Stiles with an unsettling gaze that made Derek grip his mate’s shoulders with unease.

“Turn back.” The woman spoke, a quiet, gravelly warning that only made her seem even older.

“What?” Derek frowned, eyeing the old woman suspiciously.

“Death awaits the path you have chosen. Only one may rule and he is burdened with unbearable pain. The fires will consume you and those around you. Turn back.” The woman warned before promptly turning on her heel and bustling away.

Stiles glanced confusedly at Derek for a moment before he took off after her. Derek swore under his breath but followed, knowing full well Stiles couldn’t be stopped once he was set on a course of action.

She moved far quicker than seemed possible given her age. Her skin was wrinkled, her face worn, and her body appeared frail as she walked hunched over through the crowd. Still, they almost lost her several times if not for Derek catching her scent and leading them in the right direction.

The longer they followed her, the more unsettled Derek became. The city began to thin, transforming from thriving streets bustling with people to decrepit buildings seemingly abandoned by whoever once lived in them. Derek didn’t see a single person, although he did note a few shutters slamming as they approached.

Stiles stopped and Derek followed suit, both glancing around in search of the woman who had someone disappeared again despite the absence of a crowd.

“Well?” Stiles arched a brow at him, waiting for him to pick up her scent.

“I don’t smell anything.” Derek frowned, his wolf bristling inside him with clear unease. People’s scents didn’t just vanish.

Before he could really contemplate what had happened, however, a bulky man dropped down without warning and sent Stiles flying across the street to slam harshly into the wall of a crumbling building.


	3. Dreams or Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! More coming soon!

Derek’s wolf burst forwards like an explosion. Fangs filled his mouth, eyes glowed a piercing red, and claws extended where his nails should have been. He opened his mouth and a thunderous roar escaped him in place of words.

Their assailant seemed to lose interest in Stiles at the sound, turning to narrow his eyes at Derek in angry suspicion. Derek growled in response, a threatening rumble that set the man’s eyes ablaze with a supernatural glow.

The man was tall and incredibly muscular. His dark black skin pulled tight across what little of his bare body was visible, but even then Derek could tell he was dangerously trained. He was clad in dark wash jeans and a black t-shirt with small plates of armor covering only his heart for protection. His eyes glowed a vibrant yellow, the colour completely filling his entire eye and making him look unsettlingly menacing.

Derek charged him and the man responded in full, racing at Derek with a threatening snarl. They collided with enough force to send them both staggering back momentarily before they regained their footing and began to fight. Derek managed to get in a few good slashes, only to find they had absolutely no effect in slowing the man’s attacks. A punch collided with Derek’s ribs, knocking the breath out of him and sending him flying backwards to land flat on the ground. He coughed, struggling to steady his breathing as the man approached. Based on the pain piercing through his torso, he knew he’d broken at least two ribs.

The man stopped to loom over him with narrowed eyes and Derek’s heart thundered in his chest. He was outmatched; there was no denying that. The man was larger and clearly stronger than he was. The man raised his clawed hand to deliver the final blow and Derek held his breath, waiting for the excruciating pain to explode through him.

“Stop!” Stiles’ voice cut through the tension, drawing both his and his assailant’s attention.

The man scoffed, disregarding Stiles firm instruction with clear condescension. His arm came down in a blur to slash Derek’s chest open, but the impact never came. Instead, Derek’s heart lurched in frantic concern as a bloodcurdling scream erupted from Stiles’ mouth and a wave of fire radiated out from him.

The fire knocked over the man looming over him, something Derek should have been grateful for were his focus not entirely fixed on Stiles as his scream tapered out and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Derek was on his feet in an instant, their assailant completely forgotten in the face of his mate’s collapse. He rushed to Stiles’ side, picking him up and watching his head lull and a pained groan escape his lips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and suddenly he was holding the unconscious, barely breathing body of his mate.

“Is there a healer nearby?” Derek demanded of the hulking man waveringly dragging himself to his feet.

The man narrowed his eyes at Derek defiantly but glanced at Stiles with mildly confused curiosity. He didn’t blame the man for his sudden interest in Stiles – who was naked, covered in soot, and unconscious in his arms – but his lingering gaze did ignite a burning jealousy in Derek that set his wolf on edge.

“Is there a healer?” Derek demanded louder and more frantically.

The man reluctantly nodded, eyes fixed on Stiles with an expression Derek couldn’t fully decipher and didn’t have time to contemplate at length. Without a word the man strode away and Derek rushed to follow him, careful not to jostle Stiles too much as he walked.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles unscrewed the cap of the whiskey bottle and carefully poured the amber liquid into a glass. He set the bottle down and slid the full glass cautiously across the table, careful not to disturb the abundance of papers spread out across the surface.

“Thanks.” His dad sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers in clear exhaustion. “But you know I can’t share classified police files with you.”

“Of course not.” Stiles shook his head, watching as his father took a sip of the whiskey. “But maybe I just happened to see them over your shoulder.”

“Stiles.” His dad sighed, slightly less firm than before.

“Dad, I can help.” Stiles insisted. “You’ve never faced people like this before.”

“Okay let’s assume you can help.” His dad postured reluctantly. “There’s nothing you can do without more information.”

“Let’s start with what we know.” Stiles suggested.

“All we know is that we’re up against a massive organization with seemingly limitless resources.” His father huffed, downing the last sip of his drink.

Stiles arched a brow curiously as he refilled the cup, slightly guilty at using alcohol to garner confidential information.

“Why do you think they have limitless resources?” Stiles asked with a frown.

“They’re running a global operation.” His father replied, accepting the refill from Stiles contently. “They chased our operative half way around the world.”

“Why?” Stiles pondered aloud, his brain not fully comprehending what or whom they were talking about.

His father looked at him with a puzzled expression before responding. “He stole something.”

“What did he steal?” Stiles questioned, an unsettled feeling settling in his stomach.

“Who?” His dad muttered under his breath. The word didn’t sound like a question but Stiles didn’t know how else to interpret it. It was almost as though his father were trying to remember something himself rather than answer Stiles’ question.

“The operative.” Stiles pressed, brows knitting together in confusion as he watched his father take another sip of his drink.

“There are things you weren’t told.” His father sighed with a frown, voice returning to his usual volume.

“I know. Because they‘re classified.” Stiles shrugged, not sure what to make of his father’s strange behavior. He glanced at the glass of whiskey, wondering if he’d overdone it.

“Because they’re dangerous.” His father shook his head.

“Dad… where’s the operative now?” Stiles hedged, almost afraid to hear the answer.

His father didn’t respond but the remorseful look on his face and the subtle downturn of his eyes away from Stiles was answer enough.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Stiles exhaled, suddenly stricken by a wave of panic.

“Stiles. You have to be careful.” His father warned firmly, eyes locking with Stiles’ with a determined glint. “He’ll never stop.”

“Who?” Stiles asked, heart thundering in his chest at the cautionary look on his father’s features.

“The man who killed your mother.” His father replied darkly.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek watched as Stiles eyes sprang open and he jolted awake, the room filled with the horrific sounds of his shouting. Both the healer and the man who’d led them to her startled at the noise, clearly taken aback by the sheer terror in his voice.

Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ bare chest, holding him still as he tried to thrash around on the old table he’d been placed on while unconscious.

“Where’s my dad?” Stiles panted once he’d finally calmed enough to form words rather than yell.

His amber eyes darted around the room, flitting from Derek to the healer to the man who’d attacked them. Derek couldn’t help but growl as Stiles’ eyes lingered longer on their assailant, as though confused recognition passed between them.

“Where’s my dad?” Stiles repeated in a muffled pant as he returned his gaze to Derek.

“Stiles.” Derek hesitated, recognizing the mournful desperation in his mate’s eyes. “Your father died a few weeks ago.”

Derek watched as memories flashed in Stiles’ eyes and his face slowly contorted into agony. He could see the struggle on Stiles’ face as he tried to remain stoic and calm, eventually failing as tears began falling down his cheeks insuppressible pain.

He pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ small frame and simply allowing his mate to cry as he relived his father’s passing.


	4. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! I'm also going to try and include reference pictures of the Greek characters so fingers crossed Google comes through on that. Stay tuned for more!

“I need to talk to Scott.” Stiles insisted, pulling away from Derek’s hug to lock unrelenting eyes with him.

“Stiles, we’re in Greece.” Derek explained levelly, eyeing Stiles as if he needed reminding they were away from the pack.

“I know but I need him to check something for me.” Stiles returned.

Derek eyed Stiles uncertainly, reluctant to allow him to worry the pack if he was simply confused.

“I think my father encountered the hunters before.” Stiles continued insistently.

“You were having a nightmare.” Derek tried to reason, completely taken aback by Stiles’ revelation.

“Not a nightmare. A dream.” Stiles shook his head, voice filled with fond recollection. “Or a memory.”

“A memory?” Derek arched a confused brow.

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I need to talk to Scott.” Stiles frowned, practically vibrating with purpose.

Derek sighed, unsure whether to give Stiles back his cell phone or not. Derek definitely didn’t want to see Stiles’ face if the man called back with his father’s phone. On the other hand, Stiles would simply steal the phone whenever he got a chance regardless. Before Derek could make a clear decision, the man who’d attacked them in the first place interrupted their silence.

“Who are you?” The bulky man demanded harshly, extending a clawed hand towards Derek in warning.

Derek didn’t answer, simply narrowed his eyes in furious defiance at the man.

“I won’t ask again.” The man insisted darkly.

“Sandor!” The female healer scolded him in a short snip before speaking directly to Derek and Stiles. “I apologize, he’s a little gruff.”

‘They could be hunters!” The man – Sandor – protested angrily.

“I’ve never seen a werewolf as a hunter. Have you?” The woman scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Sandor returned with a threatening glare at Derek.

“You look exhausted.” The woman sighed at Stiles, completely ignoring Sandor.

“I’m fine.” Stiles nodded, setting his face into a stone mask.

“You can’t hide it from me.” The woman shook her head. “You’ve been having nightmares.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles replied coldly with narrowed eyes.

“I can hear the screams of the fallen echoing in your mind.” She spoke, the words making Derek freeze with chilling concern. “They keep you awake.”

“Who are you?” Stiles ground out.

“Pythia.” The woman replied. “I am an oracle.”

Stiles frowned doubtfully – she didn’t look like an oracle. Then again, what exactly was an oracle _supposed_ to look like?

She was young, seemingly under thirty, yet her pale grey-blue eyes held a wisdom beyond her age that set Stiles on edge. Her skin was fair and flawless, her hair dark brown and intricately braided to sculpt her face. Her dress was a deep off yellow and parts of her skin were tattooed with glittering gold ink that shouldn’t have been possible. A red shawl draped around her shoulders only accentuated her odd beauty.

Her eyes bore into Stiles with piercing scrutiny as she awaited his reply and Stiles, as per usual, couldn’t help but narrow his eyes defiantly at her.

There was something in her eyes Derek couldn’t place and he didn’t like it.

“Well you’re wrong.” Stiles shot back at her.

“I’m never wrong.” The woman shrugged with absolute certainty that made Derek frown.

Derek watched Stiles as his frown deepened and he turned his attention away from the woman and back to him.

“Can I have my phone?” He asked, extending his hand to Derek forcefully.

Derek sighed, pulling the phone from his pocket and placing it in Stiles’ outstretched hand. Stiles nodded in silent thanks and sauntered away from everyone to make his call.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ stomach churned the second the phone was placed in his hand, his mind replaying the last phone call he’d ever taken. He didn’t let the nausea show on his face, simply nodded and strode away to make the call.

Scott picked up on the second ring, voice filled with surprise as he answered. “Derek?”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle at Scott’s tone, glad to hear his friend’s voice after their time apart.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice immediately brightened at Stiles’ chuckle.

“Hey Scotty.” Stiles greeted with a smirk, despite Scott not being able to see his expression.

“Are you okay?” Scott rushed, his bright tone immediately falling into seriousness.

“I’m fine.” Stiles assured him, putting on his most comforting tone. “I just need a small favor.”

“Anything.” Scott guaranteed, and Stiles could practically see his usually lighthearted expression pull into one of resolve.

“I need you to go to my house and search for any police files my dad might have hidden.” Stiles explained levelly.

“Alright.” There was a long pause on the line before Scott spoke again. “Why?”

“I dreamt of my father.” Stiles explained, careful not to worry Scott with any unnecessary details of his confrontation with Sandor. “I think it may have been a memory.”

“A memory from when?” Scott pressed. Stiles could hear the reservation in his tone despite how his friend tried to hide it.

“Right after my mom died.” Stiles replied weakly, cringing slightly at the memory. “He was talking to me at the kitchen table… drunk.”

There was a long moment of silence between them during which all Stiles could hear was Scott’s steady breathing over the phone and Derek arguing with Sandor behind him.

“Alright.” Scott agreed firmly. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks Scotty.” Stiles exhaled, relieved there wasn’t more resistance.

They both remembered what it was like having a father who drank and Scott understood more than most how painful it was reliving those days. He’d expected his friend to at least attempt to talk him out of investigating that time in his life. He was glad he didn’t.

A crash echoed behind him follow by a shout and Stiles sighed.

“Got to go. Derek’s arguing with someone.” Stiles offered as explanation.

He heard Scott laugh in amusement before the line cut off as they both hung up.


	5. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! I've included pictures of what some of the new characters roughly look like. Comment and let me know if you like me doing this because if so I'll post more when other characters appear later on! Hope you enjoy the chapter and don't forget to comment your thoughts! More coming soon!

Ok so the female picture above is Pythia. Yes this photo matches my description almost perfectly but Pythia is actually a woman from a real greek myth so her appearance is fairly known and stable. I'm not entirely sure who the girl in this photo actually is but whoever it is kudos on an excellent rendition of Pythia.

The man above is roughly what I envision Sandor to look like. If you don't know who this picture is of, it's Terry Crews. Still don't know?  Think football, Old Spice ads, Brooklyn99 and a bunch of other stuff. Basically this guy is awesome. 

Ok so now that we've all seen the newest characters to the story just keep them in mind because both will become more important as the story progresses. Now on to the actually writing part! 

 

* * *

 

 

“No.” Derek snapped shortly, crossing his arms across his chest and fixing Sandor with a challenging stare.

They’d been arguing for as long as Stiles had been on the phone and what had begun as haughty jabs had quickly escalated to willful threats. Still, Derek refused to back down – there was no way he was letting some stranger walk all over him in front of his mate – it was a matter of pride.

“You really don’t have a choice.” Sandor growled in response.

Derek clenched and unclenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch the man in the face.

“What’s going on?” Stiles interrupted, cutting Sandor off just as he opened his mouth to continue speaking.

“Apparently we’re being arrested.” Derek scoffed disrespectfully pursing his lips in irritation at Sandor.

“Oh? On whose authority?” Stiles returned, sarcastically defiant to the idea.

Sandor didn’t answer, his eyes flitted to Stiles as if to rebut but the words never came. Derek followed the man’s gaze to his mate, realizing he was still nude from having caught fire again. In a flash his wolf was at the surface of his consciousness and he was grabbing the collar of Sandor’s shirt in silent threatening.

“Sandor is the head of the guard.” Pythia cleared her throat, answering Stiles’ question and breaking through the heavy, murderous tension hanging between the men.

“Is that so.” Derek growled, narrowing his eyes at the oversized ogler.

From the corner of his eye Derek could see Pythia sashay gracefully over to where Stiles was standing, covered in nothing but soot. She removed the red cloak from around her shoulders and gently wrapped it around Stiles, glancing almost amusedly at Derek once Stiles was fully covered.

Begrudgingly, Derek released Sandor’s collar with a dissatisfied huff, watching as the man straightened his freshly wrinkled shirt.

“We cannot keep them here.” Pythia spoke, calm and collected as she eyed Sandor.

“We can.” Sandor protested with a deep growl. “His abilities are of no concern.”

Derek growled slightly as Sandor’s gaze raked across him, the man’s face exuding disappointed belittlement.

“It is not _his_ that concern me.” She returned with a knowing smile.

Sandor’s face scrunched slightly in disbelief coupled with confusion, his eyes darting from Derek’s broad form to Stiles’ slender one.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Sandor frowned flatly.

“I can hear you.” Stiles snapped in mild irritation, glaring at him angrily.

Derek couldn’t help the satisfaction that rippled through him at the offended look on the oversized man’s face.

“We can’t just let them leave.” Sandor insisted adamantly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Maybe so.” Pythia nodded sagely. “But not for us.”

“You’re wrong.” Sandor frowned.

“I’m never wrong.” Pythia shook her head.

“Well you’re wrong now.” Sandor asserted firmly.

Derek watched as Pythia turned her attention to Stiles, earning a weary frown from his mate in response. Without warning she pulled aside the part of her shawl that was covering Stiles’ chest, revealing Stiles’ tattoo only slightly smeared with black soot.

“I’m never wrong.” She repeated with a shake of her head.

Sandor fell silent, his eyes fixed on Stiles’ chest with a deep scowl – as though unable to accept the image inked there. Derek had never been more confused in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott stood in the driveway of Stiles’ house, Isaac and Boyd standing on either side of them. No one spoke but the discomfort was practically palpable, even without words. No one had been inside the Stilinski house since Stiles had left Beacon Hills. It felt wrong to be there now.

“Are you sure it’s in there?” Isaac asked, glancing at Scott from the corner of his eye.

“No.” Scott admitted with a slight grimace. “But it’s easier to check here than a police station.”

“Let’s get this over with.” Boyd sighed, trudging up the driveway towards the house.

Scott sighed but followed, quickly catching up to unlock the front door. Boyd had been different since Erica’s passing – darker. He was even more withdrawn than before, barely participating in pack events or speaking to anyone unless directly spoken to. It was almost as though he was afraid to get too close to any of them. He hadn’t even wanted to help find the file until Scott had mentioned it could help defeat the hunters. Clearly his anger still outweighed his sorrow.

The house was dark, the power having been cut off after the bills stopped being paid. Luckily the light filtering through the windows was just enough to see what they were doing – although every move they made polluted it with dust.

“Where should we start?” Isaac asked, trailing his fingers along a table and leaving a dust void behind.

“Most likely place would probably be either his office or bedroom.” Scott shrugged, leading them up the stairs.

Boyd ducked into the office before Scott could really assign them tasks and Scott frowned but led Isaac to the bedroom to search together.

“So what’s so important about this file again?” Isaac asked, lying on the floor to look under the bed.

“Stiles thinks it’ll shed some light on the hunters.” Scott answered, opening the Sherriff’s dresser drawers and closing them when he found nothing.

“They’re demented people who hunt dragons and kill people.” Isaac retorted flatly. “Light shed.”

“Very funny.” Scott scoffed, rummaging through the closet.

“What about this dresser?” Isaac asked, eyeing the second dresser Scott had skipped over.

“It was Stiles’ mom’s.” Scott frowned, eyeing the dresser uncomfortably. “It hasn’t been touched since she died.”

“And?” Isaac arched a brow.

“I didn’t want to touch it after they left it untouched all this time.” Scott muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the old wooden piece of furniture.

“Fine.” Isaac shrugged, nonchalantly strolling over to the dresser. “I’ll do it.”

Before Scott could protest Isaac was pulling open the drawers and rummaging through their contents.

“ _Isaac_.” Scott scolded harshly.

“Hey. Check it out.” Isaac spoke, glancing between two opened drawers directly beside one another.

“What?” Scott asked, reluctantly giving in and coming to stand beside Isaac and peer into the drawers.

Scott watched as his friend traced his hands along the bottoms of the drawers with a puzzled expression.

“One’s higher.” He muttered, tracing his fingers along the seams of the inside of the wooden structure.

“False bottom?” Scott asked, intrigued.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Isaac admitted with a perplexed frown.

Scott watched as Isaac glanced at him with a guilty glint in his eye before he returned his attention to the drawer.

“No.” Scott spat the word in a hurried rush. Still, before he managed to get it out Isaac had already ripped the face off the front of the drawer and was holding the decorative piece of wood with a flat expression.

Scott opened his mouth to scold him but fell silent as Isaac reached into the dresser and pulled out a file folder. Behind the face of the drawer had been a secret compartment, completely sealed and inaccessible without breaking the drawer. The Sherriff really hadn’t wanted that file found.

Isaac opened the file and Scott glanced at its contents over his shoulder. A lot of the writing was in another language – something Lydia would have to translate later. Tucked in with the written documents were also a few photos, more hand drawn portraits really – one of Stiles and another of a man with dark, messy curls and a scruffy beard and mustache.

“Who’s that?” Isaac asked, frowning at the picture of the unknown man.

“No clue.” Scott admitted, committing the face to memory.

“You found it.” A female voice cut through their pondering, making both boys jump in startled alarm. “Great. I was never good at scavenger hunts.”

Scott turned to see a familiar blonde woman staring back at him with dark eyes narrowed in silent aggressiveness. Kate Argent.

“I’ll take that.” She grinned maliciously, pointing her handgun at them.

A shot echoed through the room and Isaac fell against the dresser, blown back by the force of the bullet.

A moment – that’s all it took. A moment of distracted concern for his friend and Kate was striding out of the bedroom, file folder in hand. He heard a roar in the hall, no doubt Boyd obstructing her path, before a large crash and some gunshots took its place. In an instant Kate was gone – the file was gone – and all that remained was a broken drawer, a bleeding Isaac, an unconscious Boyd and a severely pissed off Scott.


	6. Hospitalized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! More to come soon!

“Where did you get that?” Sandor demanded, taking a rushed step towards Stiles to get a better look at his tattoo.

Stiles took a step back with a harsh glare, mildly grateful when Derek stepped in front of him with a protective growl.

“It’s kind of a long story.” Stiles shrugged, glancing at Derek.

“Tell me.” Sandor insisted with a harsh rumble in his chest.

“Why do you care?” Stiles snapped in response. He couldn’t help it; the harsh retort was automatic in the face of someone barking orders at him.

“It’s none of your concern.” Sandor growled, eyes narrowed in warning.

“My tattoo, my concern.” Stiles shot back, narrowing his own eyes challengingly in response.

A heavy pause of silence filled the room in which Stiles and Sandor faced off with hostile glares before Stiles’ brow furrowed incrementally and a knowing look flashed through his gaze.

“This image was on the wall at the train station.” Stiles spoke, eyes boring into Sandor with a million silent questions. “What does it mean?”

Sandor’s jaw flexed as he remained silent, as if reinforcing his muteness in the face of Stiles’ inquiry. Stiles frowned, glancing at Derek in irritation as the heavy silence reclaimed its hold on the room.

“He thinks you’re a spy.” Pythia sighed with a roll of her eyes.

“Pythia.” Sandor snarled, clearly trying to silence her.

“Do we look like spies to you?” Stiles huffed, lips pursed in incredulity.

Sandor fixed him with a flat look that clearly said he wasn’t ruling it out. Stiles frowned in frustration.

“Let’s go.” Derek whispered in Stiles’ ear, leaning in close and completely capturing Stiles’ attention. The proximity sent shivers up Stiles’ spine and a warmth over his skin. “I don’t like him. He’s clearly insane.”

“Say that to my face.” Sandor growled daringly before Stiles could answer.

“We don’t like you.” Derek scowled, voice level and challenging.

“Feeling’s mutual.” Sandor growled back darkly.

“Good thing we’re leaving then.” Derek pressed, grabbing Stiles’ arm as if to forcibly pull him away.

Sandor growled, a deep rumbling warning that was clearly meant to scare them but just made Stiles sigh in exasperation. The amount of Alpha-male testosterone in the room was practically suffocating.

“You’re not leaving.” Pythia insisted, silencing Sandor with a sharp glare before turning her attention to Stiles and Derek.

Stiles probably would’ve been more amused by such a petite girl ordering around a hulking tank of a man if not for his frustration in being told what to do – he’d never been one to handle that well.

Sandor smirked victoriously from his place standing beside Pythia and Stiles could feel Derek bristle angrily beside him in the face of the man’s haughty attitude.

“I couldn’t possibly allow you to leave in that!” Pythia continued in a horrified drawl. “You’re practically naked!”

Stiles glanced down at himself, recalling he was in nothing more than a loose shawl borrowed from Pythia to hide his nudity. Technically he was covered, but even with the shawl it was obvious he wasn’t wearing any actual clothes. He could only imagine the looks he’d receive if he tried to walk back through the city in such a state.

“We have free rooms in our hospital.” Pythia insisted with a curt nod. “You can shower and get clean clothes from there.”

“Absolutely not.” Sandor growled venomously, clearly against the idea, before turning to whisper harshly to Pythia. “The hospital is filled with vulnerable people who can’t defend themselves. The cells are the only place they won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

“Look.” Stiles scowled, beyond annoyed as he interjected into their less than subtle conversation. “I don’t know who or what you think we are but I am _not_ sleeping in a cell just because you’re paranoid.”

For a solid minute Stiles was certain the oversized man was going to try and haul him to the cells by force. His eyes were narrowed so exaggeratedly it almost looked as though they were closed save for the subtle supernatural glow erupting from them.

After a long bout of uncomfortable, tense silence Pythia clicked her tongue in clear disapproval before stepping in front of Sandor and addressing Stiles as if the man behind her no longer existed.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” She insisted, sweet on the surface but flecked with a harsh bite Stiles knew was meant for Sandor.

The man huffed but gave up his protests begrudgingly, crossing his arms and waiting for Stiles and Derek to follow Pythia before trailing behind them like a guard dog.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott paced Deaton’s clinic like a caged animal.

Isaac was nursing a slightly tender, albeit mostly healed bullet wound in his left ribcage while Boyd was still unconscious on the good doctor’s operating table. It had taken Deaton a solid ten minutes to extract the bullet from a screaming Isaac – a military grade slug that had embedded itself into his rib bone like a screw and begun to leech wolfsbane into his blood. Needless to say it was not an easy operation and Isaac had been less than cooperative when faced with Deaton’s scalpels and lethal looking clamps.

Boyd was a whole other story. He’d been pushed down a flight of stairs, causing him to break several bones, and injected with a substance that Deaton couldn’t figure how to neutralize. It had been extracted, painfully, leaving nothing to do but wait.

“What _exactly_ did Kate take?” Deaton asked, checking Boyd’s pulse for the hundredth time as Scott eyed the beta worriedly.

“A file.” Scott muttered, gaze never leaving Boyd as he answered.

“Containing?” Deaton pressed, retracting his hand from Boyd’s neck to focus on Scott’s words.

“I don’t know.” Scott frowned, clearly dissatisfied with his own answer.

“You didn’t get a look?” Deaton arched a brow.

“I did.” Scott nodded, frown deepening.

“But you can’t describe the contents?” Deaton spoke confusedly.

“They weren’t in English.” Isaac chimed in, voice still uneven and timid after his operation.

“What were they in?” Deaton asked, clearly intrigued by the mystery of it all.

“Do I look like a linguist?” Isaac growled, narrowing his eyes at Deaton and rubbing his tender ribs.

“Was there anything in the file you can recall?” Deaton sighed, turning his attention back to Scott, ignoring Isaac’s irritated retort.

“A couple photos.” Isaac spoke before Scott could even open his mouth, mildly bothered by Deaton’s nonchalance in the face of his anger.

“Photos?” Deaton repeated, arching his brows and awaiting Scott to elaborate.

“Portraits.” Scott nodded, correcting his fellow wolf with a conflicted look on his face, as if unsure which of them was actually correct.

Deaton eyed him, waiting in patient silence for Scott to continue.

“One of Stiles.” Scott frowned, recalling the images in his mind with a face that implied doing so caused him physical pain. “Another a man with dark curly hair. Before you ask we don’t know him.”

“Perhaps it’s time Lydia was involved.” Deaton pondered aloud, more of a general notion than a real instruction to anyone in the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek felt far too cornered for his wolf to be comfortable. The petite woman leading them through the decrepit town streets had an aura of mystery around her that Derek didn’t like. He could practically taste power radiating off of her and it felt odd, unlike anything he’d ever encountered before. Then there was the brick wall of a man following behind them who put Derek on edge for an entirely different reason, a territorial power status reason his wolf was acutely aware of. They weren’t the same, he could smell the man wasn’t a simple werewolf, but he was something close enough that pack dynamics seemed to apply between them.

“What happened here?” Stiles asked, drawing Derek’s attention back to him as they walked.

He looked curious but smelled mostly of concern despite it not showing in his carefully planned expression.

“War.” Sandor grunted, words filled with bitterness and anger.

“The Hunters have oppressed us for generations.” Pythia elaborated in a solemn tone, her poise never faltering. “Some have lived long enough to see the rise of this devastation. All hope to see its fall.”

A light breeze brushed past them for only a moment, just enough to kick up a large plume of dust from the dirt streets, and Derek frowned at the uncomfortable stench in his nose. Everything smelled of sorrow and death, a nauseating scent that made him want to hold his breath.

A woman spotted them as they approached and immediately grabbed her young child and dragged him inside a crumbling building as if they were the devil himself coming to claim them.

“What’s so special about this town that the Hunters did _this_?” Stiles asked, eyes darting around at the decrepit buildings and dirty streets in questioning.

“Oracles look into the future, not the past. Such answers lie with the Hunters.” Pythia responded cryptically.

Derek frowned, hearing the faintest of upticks in her heartbeat. Not enough to signal a lie but enough to make Derek question her intentions.

“How much farther?” Derek growled, glancing behind him at Sandor who met his gaze with a threatening glare.

“Here.” Pythia replied, stopping in front of a building that made Derek grimace in disbelief.

“ _This_ is the hospital?” Derek asked in utter skepticism.

“You were expecting clean modern facilities?” Sandor scoffed mockingly.

“No. I was expecting a building still standing.” Derek snapped harshly, staring at the medium sized building, half of which was a pile of rubble.

He could literally see inside the hospital through the crumbling walls, the two story building looking like it could collapse entirely with the slightest gust of wind.

Sandor gave him a rough push, making him jerk forwards. He growled, his wolf bristling at the unwelcome gesture of hostility, but begrudgingly strode inside beside Stiles.

Pythia guided them through the dingy halls until they came to a nondescript looking door. She pushed it open, stepping aside to allow them both to venture in without obstruction before entering behind them alongside Sandor.

“This room has an attached bathroom with a shower.” Pythia explained. “Feel free to use it. I’ll ask a nurse to bring you a pair of scrubs. I hope you don’t mind but I’d like my shawl back.”

Stiles glanced down, as if noticing for the first time he was still clad in only her crimson cloak. He shrugged nonchalantly before stripping it off and handing it to Pythia, leaving him standing stark naked in the middle of the room.

Derek couldn’t help the rumbled that erupted from his chest, a thick, possessively jealous sound that made Stiles and Pythia arch a brow at him and Sandor roll his eyes.

“Your clothes will be here shortly.” Pythia smirked, abruptly dragging Sandor out of the room and closing the door, leaving Stiles and Derek alone in heavy silence.


	7. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Please comment with your thoughts!

Lydia felt nauseous. Her stomach was churning uncontrollably, making her feel weak and anxious. She was barely remaining upright on her heels as she stood in uneasy silence in Deaton’s clinic, arms crossed as if protecting herself. From what she wasn’t quite sure, but the urge to vomit was quickly becoming irrepressible.

“I should be doing research.” She muttered, glancing at Boyd and swallowing down a fresh wave of bile that rose in her throat.

“I know it’s difficult but your abilities are our only chance of finding Kate.” Deaton reassured her levelly, maintaining a safe distance from her as if fully aware of how unstable she was.

“I don’t know anything.” Lydia grimaced, hugging herself tighter and glancing around the room uneasily. “Besides, wouldn’t Allison be more helpful?”

“Allison doesn’t have your skills.” Deaton admitted calmly.

“Besides, she’s been AWOL for a few hours now.” Isaac muttered under his breath begrudgingly.

The sane part of her brain knew she should probably be more concerned with her best friend’s apparent absence, but she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on it. The entirety of her concentration was being used to prevent her nausea from overwhelming her, leaving absolutely no room for any other problems.

“You don’t look so good.” Scott interjected in clear concern, drawing her back from her thoughts.

“Lydia?” Deaton arched a brow at her suspiciously.

“I… I…” Lydia stuttered, staggering on her heels as she tried to take a step forward.

“Lydia?” Scott pressed, taking a step forward as if to catch her only to be intercepted by a growling Jackson.

“Back off.” Jackson warned menacingly, narrowing his eyes at Scott as he broke his dark silence.

“Lydia do you sense something?” Scott pressed, glancing past Jackson to the panicked banshee.

“I said back off!” Jackson roared, eyes flashing as he raised a clawed hand to swipe at Scott.

Scott’s eyes flashed defensively, catching Jackson’s arm with a crushing glare and bared teeth. Jackson’s growl grew louder, yanking his arm out of Scott’s grip and moving to slash at him again.

“Stop.” Lydia muttered, clutching the sides of her head with a pained grimace.

They didn’t stop. Scott dodged Jackson’s claws and pushed him backward with a forceful punch.

“Stop.” Lydia insisted, slightly louder than before, her words still falling on all but deaf ears.

Jackson rushed Scott, punching him hard in the face before roaring and sinking his claws into his arms.

From the operating table a low, pained groan sounded through the clinic, halting the brawl and drawing every wolf’s attention to Boyd. The beta blinked, his head lulling from side to side as his eyes struggled to open, incoherent moans and groans escaping his lips as he slowly regained consciousness.

“Erica?” Boyd whispered, eyes opening to stare at the ceiling, his voice broken and shaky with agony.

The second the words escaped his lips, Lydia’s shrill scream pierced through the heavy silence, sending every wolf collapsing to their knees with hands clutched over their ears. Even Deaton clamped his palms over his ears, his face contorting in clear discomfort.

The clinic windows shattered into a million pieces, glass from beakers and light bulbs joining the shards raining down on the pack like a demonic blizzard.

When all was said and done, Boyd was once again unconscious, Deaton’s ears were ringing and the rest of the wolves were inexplicably bleeding from their noses and ears.

Lydia stood in the corner of the clinic, hugging herself and looking dazed amidst the carnage she’d created.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles sauntered out of the bathroom into the hospital room, towel slung over his head as he messily dried his hair. Derek was asleep in the small bed pressed against the wall, something Stiles couldn’t help but be envious of.

Hospitals never sat right with him. His only memories of them were from his mother’s illness and, most hauntingly, her death. There was no way he was getting any sleep so long as he was anywhere near someone’s proverbial death bed.

Still, he was grateful Derek could at least find some rest in the midst of everything. As much as the wolf tried to hide it, Stiles knew Derek was suffering.

Stiles’ sudden kisses and sexual distractions may keep his impending death out of focus but Stiles could tell Derek was slipping into frantic despair as the end drew closer.

He glanced once more at Derek before draping the towel around his shoulders and striding over to the window. The city below was dirty and decrepit. In the distance Stiles could just make out the faint outline where the bustling streets of Greece’s tourist community began. He closed his eyes, reaching out towards the horizon with his mind. He could feel Kohl’s mental connection snap into focus at his concentration and the dragon practically purred in response to Stiles’ attention.

“I need you.” Stiles muttered under his breath, not necessary to communicate but somehow comforting to admit aloud.

Kohl’s mind rumbled through his, a silent comfort that reverberated through every part of him and made him sigh in relief.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott squinted into the light being shone into his eyes, still mildly dazed from being rendered almost catatonic. His ears were still ringing, every noise coming through as a dull hum, barely audible over the shrill scream echoing through his head.

“You’ll be fine.” Deaton nodded, quickly bustling off to his next patient – Boyd.

Frankly, Scott didn’t feel all that fine. It’d been mere days since Derek and Stiles had left Beacon Hills and already the pack was falling apart at the seams. He didn’t know how to be a leader! He barely knew how to be a normal teenager!

“You alright?” Scott asked, fixing his gaze on Lydia who looked more than a little shell-shocked where she sat alone on a plastic chair from the clinic’s waiting room.

Lydia started to nod, as if on autopilot, before locking eyes with Scott and shaking her head with a look of terror.

“Something’s wrong.” Lydia whispered, eyes darting around the room in search of something Scott couldn’t place.

He frowned, restraining himself from commenting on the understatement. The entire pack looked like zombies, crusted blood speckling everyone’s faces where they’d started leaking crimson at Lydia’s scream. Nothing about the situation exactly screamed _right_.

He simply arched a brow, waiting for her to elaborate as her critical eyes fell on Deaton and Boyd.

“I’m fine.” Boyd insisted with a threatening growl, turning his head away from Deaton and his irritating light.

Lydia stood so abruptly Scott had to stagger backwards to avoid them colliding like sumo wrestlers. Without a word of explanation she stalked over to Boyd and Deaton, stopping only when she was close enough to lean into the werewolf and assess his face with scrutinizing eyes.

“I’m fine.” Boyd repeated, narrowing his eyes at Lydia and her sudden invasion of his space.

“Something’s wrong.” Lydia frowned, sharp eyes dragging across Boyd in uneasy frustration.

“I think she’s broken.” Isaac grumbled, wiggling his nose where the dried blood was beginning to flake off and itch.

Jackson growled defensively while Lydia simply ignored him altogether.

“She’s right.” Deaton admitted, drawing everyone’s attention save for Lydia who was still suspiciously surveying Boyd up close and personal. “He’s dying.”

That seemed to grab even Lydia’s attention as her eyes darted to Deaton with fearful distress.

“It seems whatever Kate injected into him is a slow acting poison. It targets the mind before the body, slowly breaking down first one’s mental control before physically killing him or her.” Deaton explained with a tight grimace, careful to reestablish his unreadable mask in the face of bad news. “For now he feels fine. But slowly he’ll begin losing control, becoming a danger to those around him and ultimately himself. Essentially the poison turns him into a metaphorical bomb.”

“How do we stop it?” Scott demanded in a low rumble, sheer determination in his voice as he squared off with Deaton.

“You can’t.” Deaton returned. “Either Kate has an antidote specific to this strain of poison or he dies.”

“I’m fine.” Boyd reiterated firmly, earning looks of disbelief from everyone present.

“Lydia. You need to find Kate.” Scott insisted resolutely.

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice echoed in Derek’s mind, his lighthearted laughter quickly faltering into terrified pleas.

Derek glanced around, his head snapping side to side so fast it was a wonder it didn’t roll off his shoulders. The night air was cold, nipping against his bare chest and making him feel number than he already did as he ran through the preserve.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice repeated, a frantic urgency to it that reverberated through him like a ghostly wail.

Derek’s heart was thundering in his chest. He spun in circles as he ran, looking behind him, in front of him, anywhere he could to find the source of Stiles’ voice.

He couldn’t.

The cold was getting worse, biting almost painfully at his bare flesh. He wasn’t wearing shoes. There was frost coating the ground, stinging his feet as he ran.

“Derek!” Stiles voice rang shrilly through the woods, making him trip as he frantically spun in the direction of the bloodcurdling cry.

He fell hard, landing face down on the icy ground with a painful thud.

He coughed, catching the breath that’d been knocked out of him before dragging his eyes up off the frost-coated forest floor. He knew what was in front of him before his eyes absorbed the image. The sound alone haunted him – unforgettable in its terrifying finality. A soft crackling that every so often sent sparks shooting up into the night sky.

“Derek!” Stiles terrified voice screeched, snapping him from his petrified daze.

He scrambled to his feet, somehow feeling even colder despite the five-alarm blaze roaring in front of him upon realizing where Stiles’ voice was coming from.

The front of the porch collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the face of the house. Amidst the flames was none other than Stiles, a look of horrified realization on his face as his amber eyes bored into Derek through the collapsed wall.

Derek made to run to him, to burst into the fiery expanse of a house, consequences be damned.

He couldn’t move.

He glanced down, realizing his feet were frozen to the floor of the preserve. He struggled against his own legs, desperately trying to force himself forward to no avail.

His face contorted into heartbroken horror as he realized what was about to happen. He locked eyes once more with Stiles, squinting through the blindingly bright glow of the blaze.

Stiles smiled back at him, a lighthearted smile that felt oh so wrong when accompanied by the tears streaming down his pale, mole speckled cheeks.

“Derek.” Stiles spoke, soft and final, a comforting tone that somehow left him frozen to the bone despite the love it held. “It’s alright.”

The flames grew larger, engulfing the entirety of the house and, with it, Stiles.

“NO!” Derek roared, deafening and guttural and still not enough to drown out Stiles’ words echoing on repeat through the sickening crackle of the flames.

“Derek. It’s all right.”

“Derek.”

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. “Wake up!”

Derek’s eyes snapped open and he sprung up, fangs extended and claws out at he roared in agony.

“Derek.” Stiles repeated his name, moving closer to place a hand on his broad chest, heaving under his uneven breaths. “It’s me. You were having a nightmare.”

Derek’s eyes scanned the room before settling on Stiles as if unsure what to make of him.

“Derek.” Stiles spoke his name, an unsure hesitation in his voice as he stared at the wolf, unsure whether to move closer or retreat.

Derek’s hands grabbed Stiles, dragging him closer and trailing over his body as if memorizing the lines of it. He buried his face into Stiles’ shirt, pale hospital scrubs borrowed as promised, realizing for the first time tears had been staining his cheeks when he pulled away to find wet marks on the fabric.

“You’re alive.” Derek sighed, pure relief.

Stiles nodded, not stupid enough to make concrete promises he would stay that way but not crass enough to steal Derek’s relief either.

“I watched you burn.” Derek exhaled, fresh panic in his voice as he nuzzled Stiles’ neck.

“It was just a dream.” Stiles reassured him, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent that was Derek. “Besides. I’m fire proof, remember.”

Derek chuckled into his shoulder for a moment, a mixture of relief and lingering devastation, before pulling back just enough to stare into Stiles’ eyes. They sat in silence on the hospital bed for a long moment, simply staring at one another in a quiet plagued with unspoken desire.

Stiles was the first to close the gap, their lips crashing together in a frantic urgency that neither could explain. Derek slipped his hands under Stiles’ shirt, pulling it over his head before resuming their kiss as Stiles wove his fingers into Derek’s hair, deepening their connection.

Derek trailed his hands down Stiles’ bare back as they kissed, firmly grabbing his ass and pulling him onto his lap. Stiles grinned through their kiss, legs wrapping around Derek’s waist.

A few more moments passed of heated kisses before Derek expertly flipped them, guiding Stiles onto his back and leaving a hickey on his collar bone.

Stiles gripped the back of Derek’s neck, closing his eyes and basking in the overwhelming sensation of Derek’s lips against his bare flesh.

Derek rolled his hips, grinding down against Stiles, making him groan and come to the immediate conclusion there were far too many clothes between them. Stiles reached down, expertly unbuckling Derek’s belt and turning it loose from his jeans. It hit the hospital floor with a thud and Stiles grinned mischievously up at Derek who arched an amused brow at him.

As Derek worked at Stiles’ neck, Stiles fumbled with Derek’s buttoned pants. Between moans of pleasure and curled toes Stiles managed to get the button undone and slide Derek’s jeans down over his hips. Derek responded by moving his lips lower, nipping at Stiles’ nipple briefly and making Stiles’ eyes slam shut as his core muscles clenched.

Even with his eyes closed Stiles could feel the satisfied grin spread across Derek’s lips as he feathered kisses down Stiles’ torso to somewhere far more intimate.

Derek licked his fingers, getting them sufficiently wet before pressing one slowly into Stiles. Stiles’ knees bent, his toes clawing at the sheets as he curled and uncurled them. Derek continued, moving from one finger to two, to three with excruciating slowness that left Stiles panting and breathless.

Finally, when Stiles’ body felt like jello and his chest was heaving with sporadic breathlessness, Derek removed his fingers and replaced the void with a much more preferable part of his anatomy.

“ _Derek_.” Stiles hissed, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and dragging one hand down Derek’s back while the other fisted the pillow beside his head.

A rumble erupted from Derek’s chest at Stiles’ breathy drawl.

He moved gradually at first, his arms flexing as he held himself atop Stiles, pushing into him slow and deep. The friction between them was unbearable, pulling uncensored moans from both their lips and quickening their pace to that of pure animalistic need as the weighty lust grew between them.

Stiles climaxed first, fingers digging into Derek’s flesh and leaving bruises that would be healed in a matter of minutes. Derek followed soon after, core muscles clenching around his orgasm and claws tearing holes through the hospital sheets as his control slipped at the height of pleasure.

They collapsed next to each other, panting and coated in a film of sweat as they came down from their high.


	8. Banished Fear

Allison glared up at her aunt, eyes filled with all the unspoken hatred that hung between them, never addressed.

“Don’t be stubborn.” Kate huffed, rolling her head in an exaggerated circle when Allison jerked her head away from the glass of water being held to her lips. “You need water.”

“You could always let me go.” Allison spat, lurching in the chair she was strapped to.

Her sudden motion did nothing but chafe her already raw wrists and ankles and earn a disappointed scowl from her aunt.

“You know I can’t do that.” Kate replied levelly, the cold detachment of a hunter. “I let you go and you run back to Scott. I expected better of you by the way.”

“I know exactly what you expected of me.” Allison ground out, jaw clenching around the words.

“You have no idea the legacy you’re throwing aside. And for what? A mutt. A bitten one at that.” Kate frowned as she circled Allison where she was tied to the chair.

“I don’t want any part of your legacy.” Allison threw back, like the words left a vile taste in her mouth.

The only light in the dingy room was flickering uncontrollably, making her squint and cringe in discomfort at the unsteady illumination and the massive headache it was bringing about.

“That’s too bad.” Kate sighed, coming to stand with arms crossed in front of Allison, a haughty expression on her face. “Because your legacy ties to that of your pale scrawny friend.” She arched a knowing brow, holding up a file folder for Allison to see. “And I know you want a part in _that_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles lay in bed beside Derek, staring at the ceiling. Neither had said a word since separating, leaving a heavy silence hanging between them that their pants once filled.

They both knew exactly what the other wanted to say, and perhaps it was for that reason they were lost in silence.

“Stiles.” Derek muttered, a conviction to his voice that made Stiles sigh. “You can’t avoid this forever.”

“I won’t.” Stiles replied, a whisper of sorrow in his voice.

“You’re dying.” Derek whispered under his breath, as if the quieter he said it the less real the words would feel.

“I know.” Stiles replied, carefully level as he traced the cracks in the decrepit ceiling with his eyes.

“It’s getting worse. You’re accelerating it.” Derek pressed, eyes darting to glance at Stiles lying at his side.

“I am.” Stiles agreed, no hint of doubt or remorse in his voice.

“Can you say something more than two syllables?” Derek huffed frustrated, a broody frown falling over his features and bringing Stiles back to the days before any of this.

Stiles chuckled, infinitely amused by the role reversal between them. Had someone told him a year ago that Derek would be the conversationalist of their relationship he’d have sent them to a shrink. He supposed if someone had told him half the things that had transpired recently he would have done the same.

“Stiles.” Derek frowned.

“Sorry.” Stiles sighed, clearing his throat to stop his snickering.

A heavy silence washed over them once more as they composed their thoughts.

“Derek.” Stiles began, propping himself up on his elbow to face the wolf directly, amber eyes boring into green-kaleidoscope ones.

Before Stiles could speak another word the entire building shook, drywall pieces and large stone clumps crashing to the floor as the ceiling-cracks opened to gaping holes.

Stiles sprung out of bed, grabbing the scrub pants he’d been given by one of the nurses and throwing them on in a matter of seconds. Derek was right behind him, barely stumbling despite the floor vibrating beneath their bare feet.

In the distance they could hear screams of terror from others in the hospital, some tapering off into deathly silence while others escalated from fear to pain.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted as Stiles raced out of the room with a look of unsettling determination on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

“I really don’t know what you want from me.” Lydia frowned, pursing her lips in clear exasperation.

The pack had been sitting around Deaton’s clinic for the better part of an hour, waiting for Lydia to have some sort of supernatural epiphany as to Kate’s whereabouts. Aside from allowing Deaton some time to thoroughly check over Boyd, the activity had proven fruitless.

“Can’t you just scream or something?” Isaac sighed, clearly beyond bored where he sat sprawled across several plastic waiting room chairs.

“Not how it works.” Lydia huffed bitterly, shooting him a harsh glare that made him shrug and fall into stark silence.

“Well how does it work?” Scott asked sincerely, staring at her with his usual puppy-dog eyes.

“I don’t know.” Lydia sighed.

“Do you need to close your eyes? Sleep? Draw?” Isaac pressed, unable to remain silent for long.

“I don’t know!” Lydia screeched, the one remaining light in the room flickering at her decibel.

Lydia’s attention immediately snapped to the flickering, all annoyance at Isaac completely forgotten as she walked over to the operating table lamp as if in a trance.

She stretched her hand forward, tracing her fingertips over the surface of the light as it flickered again, eyes becoming unfocused as she did so.

The pack was quiet for a long moment, watching as she stroked the flickering bulb distractedly. It was Scott who finally broke the silence, fidgeting as if unsure if he should.

“Lydia?” He meekly spoke her name.

Lydia’s eyes widened as visions of a dingy room with flickering lights and leaky pipes and Allison strapped to a chair flashed through her mind. Kate’s twisted face was clear as day even in the dimly flickering light.

“Allison.” She sighed the word in a distressed whisper, Scott’s eyes widening in sheer panic as she did.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles burst onto the roof of the hospital in an ungraceful stumble, almost tumbling through a large hole that would have sent him falling back inside – painfully. Luckily he leapt over it at the last second, barely escaping yet another injury.

He skidded to a stop where he landed on the other side of the gaping hole, trying not to dwell on the fact he definitely felt the floor give slightly under his weight.

Above, circling the hospital and raining fire down on everyone within was a dragon. It was large and covered in spines and if he looked close enough he could just make out the person riding on its back.

He frowned, studying the dragon as it let out another long breath of fire, silencing the screams of a man on the ground below as he turned to ash.

Its teeth were crooked and, from what Stiles could tell from the beast’s roar, some were missing. Large horns protruded from either side of its head, like oversized javelins ready to impale at a moments notice. But if he looked closely, the creature’s left horn was missing its point.

In its mouth an iron bit was wedged, allowing its rider to yank and guide the beast around and eliciting a roar each time he did so.

Stiles could sense the beast’s pain and anger despite the distance between them, the emotions overwhelming him as the dragon swooped down and impaled one of the hospitals patients with its talons.

“Stiles!” Derek roared, bursting through the doors to the roof and stopping just short of falling into the same hole Stiles had almost fallen victim to.

Stiles glanced at him, watching Derek’s eyes flit up at the dragon continuing its murderous rampage of the hospital before settling on Stiles.

“Come back inside.” Derek insisted, almost pleadingly.

“People are dying.” Stiles muttered, keeping his eyes trained on the beast overhead as it breathed fire into another wing of the building.

“And you’ll be one of them if you don’t walk away!” Derek barked in angry desperation. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Derek.” Stiles sighed solemnly.

“No!” Derek bit, taking another step forward only to halt when the roof groaned under his weight and threatened to give was entirely. “The more you use your abilities the less time you have. Now for once just listen and walk away.”

“I can’t.” Stiles shook his head with a grimace.

“Why not?” Derek insisted, words filled with a devastation Stiles had never wanted to hear.

“Because I don’t want to be afraid!” Stiles insisted firmly, hands clenching into fists at his side as he spoke. “Even if I don’t help now there’s no guarantee I’ll survive. But if I don’t help then I’ll die knowing I let people be murdered.”

The dragon swooped down, as if noticing them standing on the open of the roof for the first time. A deafening roar sounded, drowning out any more of Derek’s protests as the beast unleashed a wave of flames over the roof.

Stiles put his arms up, palms facing the dragon as if trying to block a bright light instead of a deadly inferno. Still, the fire stopped at his gesture as if an invisible barrier were preventing it from passing Stiles’ body.

Stiles winced, immediately feeling the drain that came with exerting his power.

“Kohl!” He shouted, the name echoing through their mental connection as well as cutting through the crackle of the fire he was holding at bay.

Kohl soared through the sky, knocking the other dragon aside and landing on the roof where it encircled Stiles protectively. Stiles sighed in relief as the barrage of fire ceased, the dragon roaring as its attack was cut short by Kohl’s interference.

“I know we haven’t practiced much but it’s now or never.” Stiles spoke with conviction, climbing onto Kohl’s back as the dragon took off straight up into the sky like a bullet.

Kohl leveled off when he reached the same height as the other dragon, facing it with a threatening growl. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the dragon’s rider, a man covered head to toe in familiarly crafted armor – Hunters’ armor – save for his brown eyes. The rider looked shocked at Stiles’ sudden appearance, clearly not having expected another dragon.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man, murderous intent radiating from his voice as instructed in a harsh bark “Stop!”


End file.
